The Fighting Ring
by bloggggggh
Summary: AU Santana is an illegal fighter in New Gotham. Where one night, spots a certain blonde. Which then changes Santana's life. Rated M for violence for now.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own anything.

The familiar smell of cheap cigars, and even cheaper booze welcomes you as you take those confident steps into what you hope to be simple day of work. After looking around, you see it is not possible. Like always, a bar dominates the far corner. Making room for the main attraction at Puck's. The ring. There is a bigger crowd than usual around the ring, making the atmosphere more unsettling. Puck is actually out of his 'office', and is speaking self-assuredly to a filthy drunkard from behind the bar. Inside the ring, a lone woman stands proud, hands in the air in triumph. Blood on her knuckles, dripping down her forearms, eventually to the floor. It startles you when is adds a scream to her celebration, you've always hated loud sounds.

Puck eyes light up as he spots you out of the corner of his eye. His eyes glow in anticipation. More than usual, but it's not out of the ordinary. You are his best performer. He struts toward you, cockiness and arrogance seem to ooze out of him, he smiles with mischief as he stops too far into your personal space. But you're used to it.

"Santana, I'm not sorry to tell you that you'll working an unscripted one tonight." You raise an eyebrow in response, talking has never resulted in anything good. Luckily, he catches the hint and explains. "Ya' see, I never have been one to upset any customer, and he keeps claiming these fights are rigged. So he decided to switch his fighter last minute. Gotta bring the real stuff out now sugar. If you could, make the bout decisive, don't even give her a chance." He says this all with a smile on his face, the glow never dimmed.

You nod in response. You weren't going to object, it won't be a big problem for you. Might as well get it over with. Puck claps you on the shoulder as he walks to different a customer, probably telling him the changes to tonight. It's not like an injury would effect you. You've regenerated all of your injuries since you were 23. Which was 34 years ago. Best part is, you still look like you're 23. But you remember the day it happened. Too well. Especially since you want to forget more than anything in the world. Alcohol doesn't work, you heal too damn fast to get drunk, no matter how much you drink.

It's been five months since you've been working with Puck. Longer than anywhere else. Gotta move from New Gotham soon.

A loud wolf whistle takes you back to Earth, and you realize you've been standing here like an idiot for more than you'd of liked to. You look up to see who was whistled at. You've made sure it'd never be you, by dressing in what must be a potato sack's ugly cousin and wearing the worst of faces.

You see electric blue eyes staring at you instead.

The eyes consume all other thoughts. Only electric blue eyes. They were almost cat-like in shape, and also like a cat, the eyes never blinked. They glowed in concern, curiosity, and something you haven't seen. But you did, breaking yourself out of the accidental hypnotism. Seeing the rest of her body is surprising. You'd never of thought someone as beautiful would get near this place with a ten foot pole. Hell, a ten mile pole. Beautiful people are alien to places like these, you're tempted to whistle yourself.

You start to moving towards the ring. If you didn't start soon, Puck would find an excuse to dock your pay. Greedy little bastard. Though you don't need to eat or warmth to live, you still love to be both warm and full. Also Puck take it upon himself to beat you - you'll heal, but it still hurts like a mother fucker- which is something you'd like to avoid.

Preparing for a bout at Puck's doesn't take long. It's more undressing. A sports bra and spanks is all you need. Maybe gloves if you're a wuss. A deep breath is taken, and into the ring you go. The blood on the floor, it's still warm.

The bright lights temporarily blind you. When you can finally see it, you're as shocked as hell. How'd they get a the endangered white rhino in here? Lead it here with donuts? It baffles you. Before you can figure it out, the rhino starts to charge. Avoiding the charge narrowly, thinking of a strategy is the next plan of action. Hurting something that's surrounded by 4 inched of fat everywhere but their face isn't something you usually think about. Quickly, a plan comes to you.

Rhino starts to charge again, instead of avoiding the charge, you race to met it in the middle. Right on the puddle of blood. Sliding, you chop it's legs form under it. The resounding bam makes a loud sound, making you wince, never has the fear of loud sounds not been in your conscience. Before the rhino can get up you straddle it's back, and hit it's head against the already blood smeared floor. It's blood is the same color as everyone else you've ever faced. Within seconds the rhino is out. Like the countless woman before you, you raise your fists, blood dripping down. But you don't vocalize your triumph. It never has given comfort to you.

Looking around you see all but two shares you elation. The endangered white rhino's handler of course. The other is the electric eyed beauty.

It shouldn't effect you, but it does. It makes this the fast mood swing after a fight you've had. Well screw her and the high horse she rides. If she doesn't like the fighting, she can just leave. Huffing, you turn around. Before she can effect your mood even more than she already has. Nobody will ever have control of you. It will never happen again.

x.x.x.x.x

Walking 'home' was like ever night in New Gotham. Sirens in the distance, the occasional person, and the smell of recent rain. It always seems to be wet here.

Halfway 'home' the itch of the feeling of being followed becomes too strong for you to ignore. Stopping and turning more often than you ever have. Still, the feeling doesn't leave you. It's seems like hours, but you know logically it has only been minutes. When you finally reach the alleyway that's the only pedestrian way to get home, you look back once more. Nobody in sight. Instead on comforting you like it should, it raises your mental hackles even more. Now you start power walking towards your temporary safe haven.

A yelp of pain emits from outside the alleyway. You don't want to turn around to help who ever is in danger, but for some reason you do. If anyone were to ask, you wouldn't have any type of an answer.

Rounding the corner, you see eight men, three of them down. Surrounding one lone person. The beautiful blonde.

A/N: Continue? Y/N will suffice.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't own anything. Criticism is better than nothing. ;) BTW, Don't be a cheat, read the first chapter.

Five versus one. Even you know those aren't good odds. They haven't seen you yet, there's still time to turn around and never admit to yourself that it happened. But that would mean leaving blonde behind. That'd be more difficult. You can't let what happened to you happen to anybody else. Even if it is your personal hypnotizer.

Those are bad odds, but that doesn't mean you can't change them. As far as you can tell, they're all unarmed. You don't have to be. Turning back into your alley, you sprint towards your hidden pipe. You've had enough life experience to know it's better to be safe than sorry.

Grabbing your pipe, you make you way to street outside your alley. Still there's five men surrounding the lone blonde. What now? Throw a shiny rock the other way and hope they follow it? Bluff your way into scaring them away? Maybe- Fuck it, just go beat'em up. Silently you creep behind the bastard #1. Pipe in hand, you swing and the loud crack the pipe and his skull makes you flinch at the loudness of the sound. It makes the rest of his buds flinch to.

Looking up, bastard #2 takes a swing with his meaty paw. Like in karate kid, 'wax on' works just well. Bringing the pipe up to slam his family jewels makes him down for the count. Three left. Finally out of their shock, they dash toward you. You're already feeling cocky, so next thing you know, your throwing the pipe at bastard #3's face. It does what you intended to do, he's down. But now it's hands only. This is might hurt. Thinking faster than you have your whole life, you feign injury of your right wrist. Grinning, both bastard #4 and #5 pounce at the opportunity. Suckers. Ducking under #4 outreached arm, you grab behind his knee and pull while simultaneously pushing his torso. Heads always make crack sound when he hits pavement. But while you dealt with #4, #5 got the wicked grasp on your long hair. You should really cut it someday. He is pulling you towards him, and only stops pulling when he gets him mouth disgustingly close to your ear.

By the glint in his eyes, you can tell he thinks himself a winner, if it was anybody else but you, he may have been. But you're Santana fucking Lopez, you're the winner. Never the loser. With your new resolve equipped, you brave the pain of twisting your body away from the hair holding bastard. You can tell he's surprised. He hasn't looked away from the clump of your hair in his hand, the hair your painful twist resulted in. Anger flooding you like drugs used to do, you throw technique out the window. He hurt you, you're gonna pay him back ten fold.

Starting off with a pimp slap, he goes down. He won't get up again. Kicks and punched fueled by your anger only, beat upon the bastard who dared to cause you pain. You've lost count of the number of kicks and punches you've thrown when you hear what you wish you didn't. #5 screamed. A scream full of pain and anguish. It reminded you of a similar scream. The scream you made before…

Clamping his mouth shut, you come to realize anger has left you. You should leave. Being covered in blood isn't the best to be caught in. It's less likely that someone will investigate the scream, but you can't risk it. You can't be on file, it's not as easy to get off file as it was years ago. Damn computers.

Turning into your alley, you stop. You can't just leave the blonde there. Someone could do what the bastards sought out to do.

Looking back your eyes settle back on the reason you went though all this trouble. Her expression still looked pained. She was still beautiful. Her eyes are blinking slowly. When you near her, her eyes focus on you. You're able to fight off the hypnotism, but only barely. Looking at the rest of her, you could see she was not in proper health. Bruises and cut were swelling already. You're not gonna leave her out here.

Looking back to her eyes, you silently beg for permission to lift her. Talking has never led to anything beneficial. She seems to understand, nodding. Carefully as you could, you lift her.

Her weight wasn't a problem. Your unique regeneration could mend broken muscle tissue, making you impossible to beat in an arm wrestle. You hear her whimper.

Quick as a jackrabbit, you open the door with a kick to the handle. Quicker than when you opened the door, you place her on the only soft spot in your shitty apartment. Your bed. She whimpers again.

You're not sure why you have peroxide, but you do. You star cleaning her wounds immediately. You wince in sympathy at the amount of cuts she has. You're finally done. When you glance up to her face, you can say you're thoroughly surprised at the hypnotizer, she's still awake. She stares at you. Confusion dominates all other emotions in her eyes. Not knowing what to do you stare back. Mistake, you're hypnotized again. Like before, the eyes are all your vision can focus on. The confusion never leaves. Also like before you blink. Turning away from those eyes is your only defense.

Turning makes you take in your shitty apartment. It's only one room, if you don't count he bathroom. There's a fridge, a table, a chair, and the bed that dominates most of the room. Where are you gonna sleep? Fuck it, you can sleep on the floor. There has been worse.

A/N: Let explain the muscle thing, I couldn't find a way to explain it without disrupting the flow of the story. After somebody works out, they're usually sore. That soreness, is when some of your muscle tissue snaps of breaks. When it broken or snapped tissue heal, the worker out-er has bigger muscle. Thus, the stronger the muscle can constrict. Making the muscle stronger. If it still doesn't make much sense, comment about it so I can better explain it next chapter.

Suggestions are not only welcomed, but appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

You've always hated flashbacks. They're even worse when you cannot escape them.

The song 'cat scratch fever' that had just came out, and was being played on repeat in Berry's basement. You still aren't sure why you thought a Berry party was the place to be in an average 1977 night. But here you are. Sitting in Manhand's basement bored out of your fucking mind. Looking around, you can see that thought isn't shared. Everyone is dancing on the 'stage' Berry has.

You breathe the sigh you've been holding in, stand up, and walk out. No one would notice. Maybe Finn since you came here with him. You usually go to parties by yourself. Even though, you usually don't leave by yourself.

You greet the crisp night air with a smile. Night is a hell of a lot better than any Berry interaction. Your house was only a mile away. You start walking. The night is silent. Like your thoughts. You hear the sound of clumsy feet hitting pavement behind you. You turn fast, even though you're undoubtedly on the higher end of the drunkenness scale. Finn must have followed you out. He wore an awfully small smile for someone of his size.

"Hey, why'd you leave? You tired or something? Want me to walk you home? You want an energy drink? O-Or do you want me to get my car and drop you home? Do you want-" Finn's face was utterly confused, an expression he wore all too often. It's still a mystery how he graduated high school. Probably graduated only because that pedophile Spanish teacher that favored him.

Even then you never said more than needed. "I can walk home myself Finn." The confusion upon his face hadn't shifted. He was probably trying to get his narcissistic, pea-sized mind around someone not wanting to spend time with him. You wait a mere moment for a response. When the only response is an imitation of a fish without water, you spin on your heel and continue your walk home.

No footsteps follow you.

If it was even possible, the night seemed even more peaceful to you. It might not be a bad idea to walk through the park. You haven't been there since you were a kid. Smiling at the thought, you turn right towards your favorite childhood escape.

You can see it hasn't changed much. The swings are still in need of urgent repair, the rust on the links will eventually snap. The rubberish type ground that you can never remember the name of is full of divots like it always has. You see the teeter-totter with the heavier yellow side on the ground. Even with only a dim orange light illuminating the peaceful night you can tell the red slide that did and will always have a place in your heart continues to be that ugly faded red. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Footsteps near you from behind. Finn finally came up with an answer. You turn to view him. But it wasn't Finn.

The orange light did nothing to help you view this stranger. He didn't have a smell, sound, or any other indicator he was even there. But you knew he was. You could feel him. Fear streams into your mind like a steam to a river. It's not much, but the fear constant.

Footsteps sound behind you once again. Whipping around, you can see no one, thing, hell you can't see a damn thing. Again you hear footsteps behind you. "Hello?" No response. Quickly, you slip out of your heels. Fleeing seemed to be the best course of action. Feeling the rubberish material under your feet, you start to sprint to your right, hell there might be two people. It could be one from behind and one from the front. Sprinting towards the gate with all of your might, footsteps seem to follow you. That stream turned into an all-out river. Reaching the well illuminated gate, you catch your breath. You should invest in your own body.

After pausing for a few empty moments, and no more mysterious sounds emit from the now scary night, you realize all you did was over react. That's all. There probably wasn't even anybody back there. What were you thinking leaving your favorite shoes in a public park? Sighing at your stupidity of leaving, you start walking back to get your favorite shoes. So when you hear a step from your right, then seeing only blackness, you really wish you stayed stupid.

Pressure on both your wrists immediately brings you into awareness. You attempt to evaluate your surroundings, but something covers them. You can't see. You blink a couple more times. Still you can't see. You can't see a fucking thing. Panicking you begin to thrash, buck, anything to escape that which binds you. But the bindings on your feet and ankles stay strong. Still, you feel no tear or scratch reward your efforts. You slow down, this isn't getting you anywhere.

A muffled terror filled scream sounds from your right. Panicking that whatever cause the person to your right to scream was moving on to you, you begin the violent thrashes you ceased just a moment ago. You hear a sadistic laugh emanate from the very same place the scream had come from. You must get out. You have to. There is no way you can let him get to you to do what he did to the poor patron to your right. If it were possible, your violent thrashes become even more violent. Still, the binding placed upon you remain immobile. Again and again you thrash. The footsteps are nearing closer to you. The bindings don't budge. Those goddamned bindings restraining your only escape remains strong on your thrashing wrists and ankles. Almost as if you can feel his aura, you can feel him near you. What will he do? What does he want? His hands hover above your thrashing body. You can feel the twisted fantasies he has you staring in his sick mind. Him pounding into you as you bleed screaming for him to stop. Him slicing-

A gentle soft hand grasp behind your sweaty neck, and the other, equally gentle and soft, lifts you softly into a comforting embrace. "You're home, he's not here. He's gone. No one can hurt you. You're safe." The gentle whispers tear you away from your menace predominating all of your other thoughts of your past.

The once shallow, short breaths you had are turning into calm breaths. Your head rests upon to shoulder of your savior. The gentle hands draw comforting pattern on both your back and neck.

Suddenly it hits you. Who is comforting you? What stranger has seen you so vulnerable? That very thought is what makes you jump back in fear of your savior.

The savior lets you go, but they kept their hands on you as long as possible.

You finally look to see who dared to comfort you.

It's the Blonde.

She's looking at you with concerned and pity filled blue eyes. Someone has just seen you vulnerable. No, not just _someone_, it's the Blonde. The hypnotizer now has even more to use against you. And you have absolutely nothing against her.

**A/N: **Sorry, for the wait. I can only write when I am alone, and I haven't been left alone lately. All errors are unintended. xtoxicityx, if this is like Birds of Prey ( I still have no idea what 'Birds of Prey' is( please excuse my stupidity)) it was not meant to be.


	4. Chapter 4

It's all too much to think about. Your body freezes, while your mind decides to surpass any speed it has managed to reach before. You know you can beat her in a fight, so the worry of her forcing pain upon you never reaches your paranoid mind. Other thoughts do. Do you threaten her? Kill her? Bribe her? Plead or beg? What can you do to restart the time that you have encountered Blonde? Do you attempt a time machine? Buy a time machine? Crack open her skull, and scramble her brain to remove any trace of any memories including you? How can you make her forget the sight of your vulnerability? Is it even possible to make her forget?

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. You helped me." She raised her hands in the 'hands up' position, and slouched both her shoulders to make herself appear less threatening, still sitting where she once embraced you. It didn't work, you were afraid of her memory, not her more than able body. "All I was doing was helping you back. I'm not gonna do anything you don't want me to, okay?" Her eyes attempt to meet yours, but you've made sure she is unsuccessful in her efforts by averting your eyes to her neck. "You can sit back down."

It really sucks that when you escaped her comforting embrace, your escape route lead you opposite the door and Blonde nearly sitting against the said door. It really fucking sucks. You can't run like you always do when someone even looks at you with unreasonable interest. Jump over her? Juke- Stop. You're panicking. You're letting her win. You must win.

You look down. In and out you breathe… You forcefully throw all of your fear out the door of your mind. But the saying 'when a door closes, a window opens' proves itself to you right then. Outrage pours into your mind's window. Why did you fall asleep with someone in the same room as you? How could you be so stupid? You'd of thought you learned your lesson years ago. Why did you save a woman who could only cause you trouble? Thoughts of even more anger whiz though your mind like racecars on a track. The consuming anger reaches all the corners of your tense body.

Suddenly you're going to show her how angry you are. You snap your head back towards her. Sure that your anger consumes both of your eyes. Taking a quick step across your concrete floor towards her, you draw your left arm back. Readying for the blow you're about to deal to the dangerous intruder of your peace. Then you see her.

She looks up at you in trust. No fear. If anything, her eyes are curious. Her body is relaxed, not preparing for your violence. She doesn't think you'll hit her. She's innocent. When she looks at you like that, you realize you won't be able to hit her. Ever. You're shoulder drops, along with every thought of violence and anger. You didn't realize it then, but she just disarmed your whole arsenal with one look.

Then you realize that you've been standing looking, no staring at Blonde and you've yet to think of what to do now. She must of; she speaks her next words with confidence, yet her tone remains nothing but soft and comforting. "I'm Brittany. You are?"

"Santana." The word passes your lips without permission from your brain. Your brain was telling you to shut the fuck up. Don't say a word. You haven't even told Puck your real name. You just told him to refer to you as Satan. You've revealed even more of yourself to Blonde, not Blonde, Brittany.

"Are you alright Santana?" She asked, seemingly sincere. You're fine, physically at least. Definitely you're not mentally fine. You don't answer her question. You just stare some more. But then you think, is she alright?

You must of voiced the thought, because she smiles, and nods with enthusiasm. "Thanks to you." She looks away for a moment, deliberating something. Her smile fades. When she looks back up at you she asks hesitantly "Was that you at Puck's last night?" You're not sure what answer she wants to hear. So you say the truth.

"Yes."

It must have been the answer she was looking for, the smile returns. She starts to rise, and when she falters, you grasp her arm to keep her from falling. No electricity shoots up your arm. That'd hurt. Comforting warmth climbs up your arm and settles into your heart instead. When she stands, you notice she's taller than you. And closer to you.

"So you know Puck?" She asks uncertainly, looking down. Where'd that come from? Does she like _like_ Puck? The curiosity forces itself to be voiced.

"Why?" You reply flatly. You focus on her perfect facial features, searching for any tell of a lie.

"Revenge." No emotion affects her word. You stiffen. She isn't lying. You've seen enough liars to know when somebody lies. And you're a liar yourself. But why revenge? Did he… kill somebody? No, he doesn't have the guts to do that. Then he must have…

No. You will not get involved. But… she's looking at you again. Her eyes plead; _help me_ they seem to say. She looks so fragile. The bandages you've placed on yourself stand out prominently. Some need changing, her blood has soaked though. What if you hadn't helped her? Would she still be bleeding and defeated, lying in the filthy alleyway? Or would they have taken her to pleasure themselves? Or others? Your thoughts frighten you, nearly more than you had 34 years ago. You finally understand that you'll help her. No matter how ridiculous her demands will be.

You meet her blue eyes with your new philosophy centered on her in your mind. You're no longer afraid of the hypnotizer, Brittany. Something must have given your thoughts away, or she thought that you had thought of your philosophy earlier. She beams even brighter than you've ever seen anybody smile.

A/n: Like the new developments? Or do you want me to twist it? Tell me, it'll help the story.


	5. Chapter 5

The hit lands on you with a loud _smack!_ It hurts, but it's actually the sound that agitates more than the punch itself. She tries to land another hit, but you're bored with her. You just want to get this over with. Quickly, you grasp her oncoming right arm with your own, and pull her with a twisting motion, pulling her unbalanced towards you. Rapidly, you introduce your left elbow to her head. You're rewarded with the spurt of blood that escapes her nose, and the knowledge that you've prevailed over another. You have beaten her. You won. The crowd around the ring hollers and hoots to show their thanks for the blood they think is spilt for them. The blood on the floor is cool, from your preceding fights. And dried blood, evidence of past victories, has yet to vanish. You're pretty sure you've contributed a hefty amount. And you're sure you contributed even more blood tonight.

With an indifference gained from experience, you exit the ring to enter the bar area. You fail to take into account that your recent opponent is still on the ground, and can barely breathe. The blood from her broken nose is steadily trickling down her throat, nearly into her lungs.

Puck smiles at you, he doesn't give a rat's ass either. You can tell he is deliberating whether you'd tolerate his invasive embrace. The look you send him next ensures he won't dare to try. It's not the first time you're thankful for your eyes passed on to you, from whoever your father was. Although sadly, Puck still thinks it's necessary to talk to you.

With the smile at rest upon his face he begins with, "Where have you been all my life? You made me a killing tonight!" He chuckles while rubbing his hands together. "You and I Satan, we're gonna make us some great money." He dares place a hand on one of your unmarred shoulders. Evidently, you step out of the unwelcome contact quickly. You don't like that it discomforts you more than usual, more than most past contact. You're still trying to recover from Brittany. It has only been a few hours.

He almost immediately realizes you still refuse to participate in pointless conversation. His sigh takes away his smile, and he gives you your money. He knows you've earned it. With your money, you're out the door.

You almost make it out of the door. The thought of, "_what if Brittany needs more gauze?_" stills your feet. Then move them as you seem to pivot, your feet must have communicated with your mind beforehand. They take you to the locker room. You typically don't go in the locker room. It was usually used as a safe location to lick one's bloody wounds. Obviously, you've never had nor needed to come here before.

The gauze was easy to find, there was a whole tub full of it. Where'd they get so much? Maybe those mummies are missing theirs. You crack yourself up. You give a glance around the room. Like most locker rooms, showers and lockers take up most of the space. The room is the colors of varying shades red. Maybe it's easier to clean up blood? You're about to exit when something catches your eye. A glint. Since you're not a cat, you figure following your curiosity won't kill you.

You reach the sink where you had seen the glint. Turns out, the glint is a lone scalpel, wet with blood. Fear grips your mind like a beggar's fist with his last coins. With a glance up at the mirror, you see nobody is there. You allow a release of a sigh. You pocket the scalpel. You're not sure why. Swift steps make your leave from the locker room, and eventually Puck's.

The walk home was similar to those of the past, uneventful. You fear the arrival to your temporary homestead will not be the same.

You left 'home' about four hours ago. You needed to ease your mind. From the knowledge of your past experiences, hitting the shit out of someone was the easiest and quickest way to ease your mind. Since four hours ago, you've participated in… twelve fights? Maybe thirteen? You can't will yourself to remember. Each of those fights resulted in your presently calm mind. Plus, it is a bigger haul than most other nights. Apparently, the more fights you do right after another, the more the suckers bet against you. Volia, more money for you.

You're about to turn the corner into the alley, when you notice something strange. Four claw marks are deeply engraved into the withered brick of the building. They look fresh. You ghost your fingers over the marks… the marks are a bit wider your hand. The hell? When did pranks get this good? The only prank you can remember that always worked is the whoopee cushion. Damn kids.

You're not sure if Brittany is at the apartment or not. You didn't talk or anything. There was only an awkward silence before you rushed out.

Although you'll never admit it, part of you wants Brittany to be there. She's still injured. But you're not her prison guard, or anything of the sort. If she's gone, she's gone. Then you would be alone.

You're still alone now; you're all right with being alone. It was better than being with someone who could lie, cheat, deceive, and injure you. However… there's an emotion that keeps you from fully believing you're okay with being alone. The emotion, you have no idea what it is. It's completely unknown to you.

The emotion fights with your logic constantly. You're now sure it's the emotion that made you rescue Brittany. Who, was at one point, one of your biggest fears. It's also the emotions fault that you don't want Brittany to leave. Your logic fully and passionately wants her to leave.

It is her decision if she leaves, not yours. That silences both the emotion and your logic.

Stealing a deep breath from the air around you, you unlock the door and enter. You can't help but to find it ironic that you're scared entering what is supposed to be your safe place.

You don't need to look around long to see that Brittany, whom you were hoping had stayed, is gone.

You knew this was going to happen. Why would anyone want to stay around you? Nobody ever will. You already know the reasons why. Your logic is laughing at the emotion for getting your hopes up. You only resent allowing the emotion to take a hold of you.

Just when you have accepted that you are, and will always be forever alone, the bathroom door opens. Brittany enters, with her warm and complex blue eyes, her shining long blonde hair, and her lithe form. It's Brittany, she stayed. Or she came back. Right now, you couldn't care less. Brittany chose to stay with you. You, the shattered and broken.

**A/N**: Yea… there isn't an excuse for me not to have updated earlier… If you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer. This is a second upload… I completely forgot to proof-read.


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